


Belly Rubs

by bennyslegs



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fawnlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 22:32:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bennyslegs/pseuds/bennyslegs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fawnlock catches John dancing, John tries to get Fawnlock to dance with him, in the end Fawnlock gets what he wants~ First part is Fawnlocks POV, second part is John's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Belly Rubs

**Author's Note:**

> hello !!  
> i don't write all that often I KNOW I'VE SAID ALL THIS CRAP BEFORE i'm not a writer etc but hear me out  
> it's a defensive mechanism, i am a puffed up baby bird saying, 'please don't be too cruel to me!'  
> but yes, i can't remember where the idea of them dancing came from, probably my partner in crime the wonderful krista, but here is me messing around with fawnlock and john for almost 3k of words. it's late so i'm sorry to not be making sense i just hope you enjoy the fic goodbye friends i am gone
> 
> also also, there is a gorgeous piece of art nestled in this fic done by my wonderful friend zoey, i will link to said art and you should follow her because she draws lovely okay.
> 
> p.s my boyfriend beta-d this for me so if there are any mistakes left, aim your displeasure at him, thank~!

Fawnlock had seen a fair few peculiar things in his lifetime. Peculiar things were his favourite. They meant something to learn, something to figure out. One of Fawnlock's favourite things about John was that he seemed to be absolutely full of peculiar things. He wasn't half as bored as he used to be.

The weather was overcast, the sun trying its best to fight its way through the clouds. Spread out in the windowsill, Fawnlock sighed happily. Rubbing the fur on his tummy absent-mindedly, he wondered if once John was done with the “cleaning”, he'd give him a real belly rub. The one where he'd twist the fur in his fingers just so. Fawnlock had tried to recreate it himself, but it hadn't felt right and he knew it wasn't his technique, it was just that his hands were the wrong hands.

The night before, he'd spent almost an hour attempting to count the hairs on John's head. He knew it was unrealistic, that didn't mean he couldn't attempt it, and anyway, John's hair was soft and smelt like fruits and berries Fawnlock had never smelt before and that was like imagining new colours to him. It was fascinating and sleep paled in comparison.

When John had woken up and rolled over to see Fawnlock's hands poised in front of his face, he nudged him out the bed. "Get out if you're not going to sleep," he muttered, "God knows I’ve missed having the bed to myself without having to share with an octopus."

Fawnlock stalked out, half offended, half curious as to what an octopus was and why John was insinuating that he was one.

He spent the rest of the night sulking around the cottage, sniffing and inspecting things. Observing. He'd done this all before, but new things were always to be seen. John's slippers a few feet apart – the left one in front of his armchair, and the other just outside his bedroom door. John had been tired, so tired in fact that one slipper had fallen off on his first step towards the bedroom and he hadn't bothered to care. John's legs got stiff when he got tired, especially his left one, which gave him the most trouble. One day Fawnlock would know why that was.

Fawnlock had kept John up later than he usually stayed up. They'd been reading together. John said that Fawnlock was improving rapidly, Fawnlock disagreed and thought it wasn't fast enough, but listening to John read to him was pleasant enough to curb the impatience, and half the time Fawnlock let it wash over him. It was nice having someone want to interact with you, he thought, as he'd lain curled up in John's lap. He wondered if he could ever go back to how it was before.

Perhaps that was why John had reacted so unfavourably earlier, in bed. Maybe, if Fawnlock let John go to bed earlier, he'd sleep better. Noted. Fawns didn't seem to require as much sleep as humans did, which Fawnlock had a hard time remembering. (He had been learning a lot recently, perhaps he needed to come up with a way to remove unwanted information, like what lemons tasted like -- foul, but he'd keep the part where John laughed at his reaction -- and what John's insides smelt like, especially under the covers in the middle of the night, even fouler.)

John would sleep particularly long if Fawnlock let him, which was annoying, as there were a great many things to be done whilst John was sleeping, but Fawnlock was adapting. There were certain things he wasn't allowed to do while John was awake. He was still learning what was classed as polite and what wasn't -- although when it came down to it, Fawnlock found he really didn't care too much, unless he felt in the mood to behave, because being on John's good side had it's benefits. Like belly rubs.

Apparently rolling in dirty clothes was impolite -- why? Isn't it a nice thing to want to cover yourself in someone else's smell? -- so he got it out of his system whilst John was asleep. He made his way to the bathroom, hoping to find what he was after. With a happy sigh, he knocked over the wash basket, looking over the wonderful bounty of dirty clothes. Odd things John wore that covered up all his best bits, but also trapped his smells, so Fawnlock couldn't complain too much.

He flopped himself down dramatically, and wriggled until satisfied.

Once he'd got his fill of that, he'd sniffed around the bathroom some more, and found the reason John's hair smelt the way it did. Fawnlock could safely say that it didn't taste as good as it smelt, and that it would be added to his list of things to be removed from his memories, when he figured out how to do that, which he would.

It wasn't until John had woken up and pottered into the bathroom for a morning pee, and tripped over the pile of clothes -- with a muffled “Fuck! Again?” -- that Fawnlock made himself scarce and made his home for the day in the windowsill. He laid there, soaking up the sun (when it succeeded its fight with the clouds) and lazily watched John move around the cottage, rubbing things and brushing things. “Cleaning.”

He seemed to be in good spirits, which was interesting, as Fawnlock would have assumed, having had barely any sleep and tripping over clothes combined would have put John in a bad mood for the day -- if past experiences were anything to go by. He even whistled and smiled as he worked. Peculiar!

Perhaps it was the sun's doing, as they'd had a lot of rain recently, another thing besides tiredness that made John appear stiff and uncomfortable. He'd rubbed his shoulder a lot, and Fawnlock would know why he did that too, one day.

His shoulder appeared to be fine today, thought Fawnlock as he smiled smugly to himself, a puzzle solved. John liked the sun. So did Fawnlock. The sun did him good. They weren't too different, not really.

His eyelids had been drooping on their own accord when a click and a sudden blast of noise made him jump so much he almost fell off the windowsill. Clutching onto it for dear life, he looked towards John, who was chuckling. He'd turned on one of those things that ran off 'electricity' he'd told Fawnlock about, which was dreadfully fascinating, until it scared the life out of him. John turned a knob on the thing, lowering it to a quieter volume. Fawnlock huffed.

The noises were odd, full of all kinds of sounds, and human voices, too. Whatever it was, it was making John wriggle in the most interesting way. How odd! Fawnlock's ears began to twitch on their own, and he found he couldn't stop them. He watched John curiously for a few moments as he spun and danced his way around the room, humming the tune under his breath and flicking the cleaning rag here and there.

“Why?” interrupted Fawnlock, unable to hold it in. John turned to face him, pausing in his dancing.

“Why what?”

Fawnlock flicked his hand impatiently towards John's legs and then at the music still coming from the radio.

“Oh,” John laughed softly. He rubbed his neck as if he hadn't realised he'd been doing it. Interesting. “Because I was in the mood to dance, that's why most people do.”

“Dance?” Fawnlock repeated, tasting the word on his tongue. So much to learn, would he ever be done with it all? He hoped not.

“Yes, dance, boogie, shaking your tail feather, sometimes part of getting someone into bed, or even just between family, friends...” He trailed off, looking out the window as if remembering an old memory and dwelling on it momentarily.

Hm, thought Fawnlock. Sounded like something he'd want no part in, but watching John “dance” seemed agreeable, so he made himself comfortable on the sill once more and continued to look in John's direction.

“Want to try?” John asked as he motioned towards Fawnlock, arms partially outstretched.

 

***

 

The shocked look on Fawnlock's face should have warned John, along with the stiffening of his shoulders and his inching as far away as possible from John's hands, but John ignored all these signs. The swift kick Fawnlock aimed to his stomach could not be ignored, though.

“Hey!" said John, "Stop that, will you? You're always curious about us humans and the things we do, so just stop wriggling and stay still for _just one second!”_

John had once attempted to give Harry's cat a bath when he was 16. (He'd been painting his bedroom when she'd come in -- the cat, not Harry -- and had rubbed against the paint-can.) The experience was not one he was in a hurry to repeat, but Fawnlock's flailing arms and growling were giving him flashbacks. He could almost feel the scratches.

He hadn't really expected Fawnlock to react so unfavourably, but he wasn't going to give up –- he was only going to show him what it felt like to dance, for Christ's sake –- he was hardly torturing him.

Once he'd managed to get Fawnlock upright and in front of him, he held him firmly around the waist. Quite like a cat wearing a costume at Christmas, Fawnlock had apparently accepted his fate and was standing there with a dejected look on his face. John tried not to think of all the ways in which Fawnlock's brain was working behind the sad expression, all the different kinds of revenge he was plotting. He was humouring John, until it was over. John wouldn't stand for that. Fawnlock was going to enjoy this.

John cleared his throat and looked up into Fawnlock's face. He'd shot up recently quite like a teenage boy during puberty, and John still wasn't yet used to Fawnlock being a good few inches taller than him. Start simple, perhaps?

John started to sway from side to side, gently encouraging Fawnlock with his hands to do the same. The look of offence on Fawnlock's face almost made him stop. Almost. He'd been to war. He could make Fawnlock enjoy a simple dance. John started to move his feet, barely at first, then faster until Fawnlock was swaying in his arms too. He could feel Fawnlock loosening up, and he smiled at him encouragingly.

He moved his foot further in an attempt to get them moving even faster, -- the music was quite upbeat so why not, thought John -- and winced as he felt a soft foot under his shoe. A snarl came from above him, and he lifted his foot as fast as possible.

“Sorry! Sorry, won't happen again, I ah – Haven't danced with anyone for a long time...”

Fawnlock must have deemed this apology as acceptable, because John could have sworn he felt him inch a little bit closer. He sighed and continued swaying as the song finished, and a new one began. This one was much softer and slower, with a simple beat, like a heartbeat. They swayed there for a while, letting the music guide their motions, enjoying the breeze coming from one of the windows. It suddenly welled up inside John how lonely he'd been before this curious Fawn entered his life of his own will. He wasn't sure if he'd wanted it, at first. Maybe he had wanted to deny himself the company, feeling as if he didn't deserve it. But Fawnlock had decided for him, he'd nudged himself into Johns life and made himself comfortable and that was that. They could barely have a proper conversation, but he'd never felt more comforted in his life. He often felt broken, something he hated to admit to himself, but Fawnlock never left. What a funny pair they were.

Instinctively, John tugged Fawnlock closer to him until his head was resting on Fawnlock's collar bone, taking in deep steadying breaths to try and overcome the rush of emotion he was experiencing. He could feel Fawnlock's heartbeat through his chest. It was soothing.

“Thank you," he said, "you know, for being here. With me.”

John burrowed his face further, embarrassed by how he was acting. He cleared his throat and lifted his head off the Fawn's chest. He'd had his moment of weakness, the cottage still needed cleaning. The busier he could make himself, the less he'd have to think about just how much he relied on a half-human, half-fawn who could barely talk (yet still made him feel intellectually inferior) and liked to roll around in his dirty clothes. Not that he was embarrassed by Fawnlock, he just wondered how this had become his life. Last year, he'd been shooting at people.

[He took another deep breath and made to move away, to break the embrace, until he felt a firm hand grab at one of his, holding him back. He stopped, his heart now hammering, and looked up at Fawnlock, who's head was cocked. His eyes were flicking back and forth, studying John's face.](http://fawnlock.tumblr.com/post/39164513714/203y-dancing-with-a-deerman-is-a-bit-harder)

[“Stop, don't do that … thing where you examine me, just let me have a minute...” He could feel his face heating up,](http://fawnlock.tumblr.com/post/39164513714/203y-dancing-with-a-deerman-is-a-bit-harder) and he tugged to move himself away. Fawnlock seemed to hold on firmer, and pulled John closer to him, like some odd tug of war. With a resigned sigh John gave up, and flopped himself back onto Fawnlock's chest. His hand still in Fawnlock's, his eyes clenched shut. Well if he insisted, John thought, he'd make the most of it. It's not like he'd been held by anyone recently, and it was quite nice, really, even with the fur on Fawnlock's chest tickling his face. John wasn't a tall man, but he was used to being the comforter, the one who had people laying on him, feeling his heartbeat instead. He was enjoying the change.

Moments past quietly, until John noticed a faint rumbling underneath him. When had that started? Was Fawnlock purring? He rubbed his cheek against Fawnlock's chest and was rewarded with the purring getting louder, deeper. Trying to soothe him, maybe. In his own fawn-like way. He wasn't sure it was working or not, but it was nice anyway, so he stopped thinking about it.

Apparently the comforting wasn't over, as John felt a hand creep up into his hair, rubbing softly just at the point where his head stopped and his neck began. He relaxed into the touch, and sighed.

John wasn't sure how much time had passed until Fawnlock was moving away. They stood apart, in the middle of John's home, looking at each other. Fawnlock's ears had started twitching to the music again, and John laughed nervously. He'd forgotten all about the music. The slow song was now over, The Spice Girls were now playing. Then he realised that Fawnlock would have no idea who The Spice Girls were. To be honest, he only really remembered them because he had fancied the tall, dark haired one something rotten. It's not like it was important.

Fawnlock's attention seemed to be elsewhere now, as he'd flopped himself onto the sofa, hands steepled under his chin. John declared the moment over. He looked around the room to find the rag he'd been cleaning with, and found it laying on the kitchen table amongst various papers, bones Fawnlock had collected, and other things he knew he needed to clean but was putting off. He began to make his way towards it before he heard Fawnlock clearing his throat, a noise he'd never heard him make before, but one John often did to get his attention (usually when he was in trouble.)

He turned around to see Fawnlock watching him carefully. He cleared his throat again and John tried to fight a smile.

“What?" said John, "will my cleaning distract you from being lazy?”

Fawnlock ignored the teasing and shook his head. He rubbed a hand on his own belly. He curled the fur in his fingers, and looked at John expectantly.

“Oh, that's how it is, is it? You gave me a cuddle and now you want a belly rub? I have things to do!” Fawnlock eyes seemed to get wider, and John knew, he just knew he was being played, but he walked towards the sofa anyway.

“Up, then! Move, you great lump.”

Fawnlock scrabbled to get out of the way as John sat down heavily on the sofa. His bum had barely hit the seat before Fawnlock was spread over him, head dangling over the side of the edge of the sofa, belly on full show. John sighed -- not his first, and definitely not his last sigh of the day -- and wondered if Fawnlock appreciated him half as much as he appreciated Fawnlock. As long as he had hands to rub belly fur with, John guessed. He found he didn't mind all that much, as long as he was here, and didn't plan on leaving any time soon. Judging by the rumbles coming from the great lanky fawn's chest, John doubted that.


End file.
